Demon Days
by Leena Tauros
Summary: The Grey Wardens as an order were not as pure as Alistair was led to believe. A demon-possessed Warden holds their dirty secret. Starting in Haven and deviating from the original story, the party must eventually defeat the archdemon. Zevran/Warden pairing
1. Chapter 1

_Hi guys, hope you like my story. Please don't forget to review._

**Chapter 1**_  
_

* * *

The two young Wardens walked with a purpose, side by side, yet still trying to avoid being in each others' line of vision; the rest of the party followed suit dutifully. It was quiet. Too quiet for comfort. The huge dog trotted up to walk between the two leaders, making concerned guttural sounds and casting furtive sidelong glances at Alistair. The loyal canine brain saw Alistair as the perpetrator responsible for his master's seething mood. A low dangerous growl directed at Alistair received no visible answer so the hound moved closer to the female Warden, grazing his snout against her hand. As preoccupied as she was, the Warden did not ignore this deliberate sign of affection and brushed her hand across his bristled head. It didn't take a Mabari war hound to feel the explosive heaviness that hung in a cloud around his master and the stout blonde knight who looked outright scandalized. Even the weather reflected the volatile atmosphere of the war party – the biting frigid mountain air was filled with the electricity of the coming storm that was rolling in from the south. It brought the smell that they all knew too well – the corrupted stench of the Dark Spawn horde. It clung to their clothes, choked the life out of their senses, permeated their very dreams.

Hoping to lighten the mood, Oghren let loose a long colorful string of the finest dwarven curses that would make even the most liberal of the Dust Town harlots blush. Usually, this provoked a giggle or two from their leader, but the silence from the front of the group grew even more deafening. Zevran shook his head and muttered "Pathetic," while the rest of the group ignored the dwarf and kept their quiet ascent up the mountain. It was Sten that finally broke the silence. With giant strides he quickly reached the head of the group and stood blocking the Warden's path.

"I grow tired of this aimless wandering, Warden. Tell me – do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the archdemon from the rear?"

Celia stiffened. The rest of the group stopped to watch. Zevran quickly covered the distance between them and stood behind the female Warden, his hands never leaving the intimate proximity of his weapons. This was not moving in a good direction.

"This is not aimless. It is a means to an end." Her voice came out raspy, pitched dangerously low.

"The archdemon is our goal. And we are heading away from it. To find the charred remnants of a dead human woman."

The Warden brushed her hair out of her face which was flushed with blood. "You never understood the importance of connections, Sten. There is a reason for all of this," she gestured to the frozen mountainside around them.

"I will not simply follow in your shadow as you run from battle." The words rang with a resolute forcefullness.

"What about your atonement? Making your amends?" Everything hit her all at once - her armor was stifling, her hands were sweaty, and her legs were aching from the hundreds of miles she had walked from just in the past month. She had come so far since those warm, carefree days in the Anderfels. The harsh stinging wind bit into her face and brought Celia back to the present twisted reality, where the unyielding Qunari warrior was standing in her way, questioning her infinite experience. "Are you questioning my ability to lead?"

"Yes. I am taking command." The Qunari giant drew his greatsword and stuck it deep into the icy ground. The heavy blade sliced through the frozen tundra with ease, coming to a stop incredibly close to Celia's feet. Immediately sensing his master caught in the midst of danger, the hound moved to stand between her and Sten, growling in anticipation.

"Down, Ed. By all means," she commanded her loyal hound out of the way. "If Sten wants to challenge me, I simply cannot refuse." His impassive eyes were boring into hers, seeking out any careless openings she might have left for him to exploit.

Celia slowed the breath in her lungs, felt the bite of her blood take on the winter cold around her and freeze in her veins. She closed her eyes, ready to rely purely on her other senses. The frosty soil she stood on reverberated as Sten forcefully yanked the entirety of his sword out of the ground.

Celia's energy enveloped her in an invisible cloud, yet she felt it all over: emanating from inside her navel, pouring from her very skin, permeating every particle in her body. Caressing her daggers with the naked flesh of her fingers, she felt the familiarity of these heavy weapons become one with her being, mere extensions of her arms. The tired feeling in her legs vanished, and with it – the constriction of her armor. A sudden flood of awareness overwhelmed all of her senses. An excitement surged through her like lightning. Sten's sword sliced apart the air above her shoulder, then everything distorted.

* * *

While Wynne was busy fussing over Sten, Leliana was trying to figure out the best way to pull out Celia's dagger that was embedded to the hilt in the giant's ribs, piercing cleanly through the armor. It was remarkable how Celia managed to miss his major organs when planting the blade deep into his body. That is, if Qunari organs were humanoid. But Sten's breathing was not labored; he seemed coherent and Wynne was stemming the minimal bleeding with her magic. Because his skin was harder than that of a human's, the problem lay in the manner of pulling out the blade. Morrigan looked on with uncharacteristic interest as Leliana struggled to find the most sensible way to free the Qunari. Planting her foot unceremoniously on his chest, Leliana gave a signal to Wynne and heaved with all of her might.

A few feet away, Celia was being tended to by Zevran. Ed was licking the blood that ran down her thigh and Celia was doing her best to protest the helpful swabs of healing poultice that Zevran was trying to apply. Her wounds were only shallow, as she was quick on her feet and able to wind around his wide-ranging blows aimed at her head. The sweat on her forehead and neck was sending wisps of steam into the dry frigid mountain air. Alistair and Oghren hung further back, unsure. Sten's attack on Celia took everyone by surprise.

It was over as soon as Sten was able to catch her in the thigh; she sank an eager dagger into his midsection, throwing all of her might and force into the thrust.

Leliana stumbled backwards from wrenching the dagger out of Sten, and Celia was hit by an overwhelming urge to laugh. Zevran noticed this change in his companion's demeanor, taking it as a sign that the storm had finally passed. "My dear Warden, next time you feel a bit frisky, all you have to do is ask."

Celia regarded him with a humorous sweep of the eyes and called over to Sten. "Are you alright? You gave me no openings, I almost feel bad for sticking you that deep."

"I'll live. What now?"

"We get back to hunting for the 'charred remains of the dead woman.' Anyone else have a problem with it?" The question was punctuated with a bark from Ed.

"I do. You all need rest. We need to set up camp for the night, no protests!" said Wynne. The weather was starting to turn for the worse and the mountain village of Haven was still leagues away. The icy ground shook from thunder that was wracking the sky. Regretfully, the group had no choice but to agree.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Celia climbed out of her tent. Their camp was quiet – only Sten was awake and keeping watch. Sitting against a tree with his beloved Asala leaning against his shoulder, he watched the camp and spoke quietly to himself in his singsong native language. They set up camp in a small clearing on the side of the mountain, which provided natural protection but drew their tents closer together than usual. Celia nodded to him and set off in Haven's general direction. The confrontation was left forgotten – following their scuffle, Sten informed her that he trusted her with his life. Qunari people were so undeniably bizarre.

How curious it was that Celia could not sleep. Just a few hours ago her feet ached from walking and she yearned to rest – but now she was longing to keep moving. The confrontation with Alistair was still fresh on her mind. They had gotten very close within the last year of traveling together but she wasn't feeling all that he was. He was sensitive; she was not. She was experienced; he was fresh out of the Grey Warden recruits. He had pawed at her over killing on instinct – as her vast experience dictated her to do. She thought him to be naïve. With these uncomfortable issues mounting up between the two Wardens, no wonder Sten tried to usurp her leadership. But Alistair was still a child. The most recent fight flared up because Celia did not think twice before cutting down a woman affected by the taint. She was young, not fully twisted yet, but all the signs of the disease were present. With spots and discoloration all over her body, the glazed look in her eyes, the shakes in her extremities – it all pointed to her having the corrupting disease. So she had to cut her down; and she did so without hesitation. The mounting tension had finally come to its breaking point and exploded in the middle of the woods.

Celia was not known for her patience. She had stood toe to toe with him, almost a head shorter, while they both yelled at each other. This was probably not the best way for a leader to behave, but she wasn't used to leading. Duncan had dumped this recruit into her lap and died with the rest of the Grey Warden order at Ostagar, making them the last of their kind in Ferelden. If Duncan had foreseen the sweeping death of his kind, he would have never left him with her. He knew what she was – a Grey Warden anomaly. She was hard-pressed to be even called a true Grey Warden. But at this point it was more of a title anyway. Duncan had known this – and he didn't mind. He was one of the very few in the order who didn't. The familiar corner of her mind tingled painfully, reminding her that it was still there. She shook her head and pushed this thought out of her mind. The faint scent of Zevran Aranai broke her out of her mental prison.

"Have you finally come to take my head?"

The assassin's eyes glittered in the dark. "Nothing like that, Celia. It seems that I am plagued by sleeplessness just as you are. I came because I wanted the pleasure of your company."

He flirted incessantly with her, and for a time – she flirted back. But that was all it was; she was not interested in pursuits of love. Knowing the group would gossip, she told Leliana of this and it got around to both Alistair and Zevran just as she intended. But neither of them took her contention seriously. A master trickster, Zevran took it upon himself to argue with her on this topic any chance he got, knowingly antagonizing Alistair. But Zevran's company was welcome. He kept the mood light and the stories of his misadventures took her mind away from the doomed reality and what lay ahead.

"You know you are always welcome." She motioned for him to join her in a brisk walk to the end of the ravine she had intended to explore. The village of Haven stood at the bottom of the chasm.

"So about this diminutive altercation with Alistair earlier." Celia remained silent but kept walking. The group was getting too chatty. "I believe he has feelings for you." Celia's eyes snapped onto his lovely elven face, trying to interpret the intention behind his words. The Crows had done a good job training the elf, however; his face was a mask of contentment.

"Alistair is a child," she said finally.

"It is true he has lived a sheltered life, but do not dismiss the good man because of inexperience!" Zevran exclaimed heartily.

"Zevran, I have told you more times than I care to count – I am not interested. We are on a mission. We have armies to muster and a dragon to slay."

"But what happens after all that? Provided we are still alive. What say you?"

Celia shrugged. "I see no future in front of me other than the battle with the archdemon. That is all I can focus on." The corner of her mind tingled again, and dark thoughts flooded her already troubled mind.

"Celia." He took her by the hand. "As your companion, comrade, and hopefully as your friend – I don't want you to lock yourself away. It is unhealthy for a beautiful young woman such as yourself to ignore such an important part of life. There are certain needs that need to be met, and it seems to me that you are selling yourself short."

She took her hand back. "And you can help me with these _needs_?" she was starting to lose her temper. "This constant prodding on the subject of my private life is most disconcerting, Zevran."

Zevran chose his words carefully. "I am not saying I would or should. I just don't want you to be unhappy." This was the truth – his whole face reflected this notion in the most genuine way.

"You are sweet." They had finally reached the crevasse. The lights from the village cast a soft glow on the surrounding rock face. The location of the village was genius at the very least – surrounded by miles of rock wall, there was only one way to approach the village. The village was impenetrable by covert means – if you ruled out an aerial attack. Celia remembered the vast army of griffons back at the beginning, now mostly extinct. As loyal as the Mabari, the griffons were an integral part of the Grey Warden order at its inception. The order had endured so many changes over its lengthy existence.

Celia's vision was honed over a lifetime of turbulent years. She lived a hard life of a Grey Warden in times of consecutive wars with the Dark Spawn. Spotting a series of tunnels that led in and out of the side of the mountain overlooking the village was a small feat. It would be those tunnels that they would use to enter the village. She pointed at a small opening in the mountain wall that confirmed her earlier idea to Zevran. "We need to find the entrance to that tunnel. Tomorrow, we have to be in that village." He nodded. Elves had the sharpest eyes of all the races. "Come, we need to return to camp before Sten goes on a rampage again," she smiled.

"Well, the way things are going between you and Alistair, maybe that would be most welcome," joked Zevran.

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. He suddenly grew very serious and Celia drew back from this sudden change in her companion.

"Celia. I wanted to give you something. It's been on my mind – how good you have been to me. Shielding me from the Crows, helping me take care of Taliesen. And I don't think I've ever thanked you for any of that." He was twirling something between his long slender fingers. "You… what you did… means a lot to me." Uncharacteristically unsure of himself, he held out his hand. "I want you to take this and remember that you forever are a friend to me."

Celia took the proffered object. It was an earring – beautifully crafted of silver and garnet. The blood red stone shone remarkably reflecting the soft glow of Haven beneath them in the ravine. "Thank you Zevran, but you don't need to give me gifts to thank me. Having you alongside me in battle is a reward in itself." She was really touched by this small gesture. "You are more than just a companion to me. You are a dear friend." Getting emotional was not a good idea, warned the far corner of her mind. She shook off the nagging sentiment and put the earring on. Zevran was not able to hide his satisfaction this time.

"Come now. Let us go back to camp before our companions begin to talk of our pleasant diversion as something other than what it really is." He winked.

Celia was visited by lingering memories on the unhurried trot back. Zevran sensed her absence in the present let her be. Just before they walked into camp, he grabbed her hand and turned her around to face him. With a serious look in his face that made Celia chuckle, he asked earnestly, "What of Sten? You two were getting mighty close."

"Yeah. Before I sunk my blade into him."

"It was very exciting to watch. Almost arousing. You would make a lovely pair…"

"You are _impossible_," she scowled and stomped away to her tent.

* * *

Haven turned out to be a creepy breeding place for death and conspiracy. The villagers did not welcome travelers and killed anyone who had wandered into the village. After they attacked the party, the group had no choice but to massacre them all – which put Alistair into an even worse mood. The bloodbath left a lot of houses disinherited and begging to be looted. The rogues in the party had no qualms in relieving the dead owners of their belongings. Better still, Celia found a pair of Antivan leather boots for Zevran, who almost wet himself in excitement.

Morrigan suggested they take up camp in the tavern for the night – to which everyone wholeheartedly agreed. Oghren was passed out in a drunken coma within the hour, having consumed his weight in ale. Morrigan and Wynne sat meditating out back with a couple of bottles of wine to keep themselves occupied from being at each other's throats. Sten had boarded himself down in the pantry, happiness in him apparent after discovering a surplus of sweet baked goods found there. Leliana and Zevran took to chatting with the sleeptalking Oghren for entertainment. Unable to sleep again, Celia took her hound a walk, while a disgruntled Alistair was left to keep watch. The look in his eyes was stony.

The small forest close to Haven was a perfect place for a dog to cut loose. Ed was happily running around and barking at everything that moved, bringing her random objects that she accepted with genuine enthusiasm. Celia was reflecting on Zevran's admission of friendship. There were just so many things that she kept from her companions. But now, the "friend" door was thrown open and she could not in good conscience keep things from him anymore. That distant corner of her mind quivered in blatant disagreement. _Too bad. _She always seemed to rebel against authority, even if it was subconsciously. Throwing a piece of bone as far as she could for Ed, a mutinous idea sparked in her mind. Perhaps it was the right time for their story to be told. All of the guardians were dead, and no harm would come from this… at least no harm that she could foresee. The corner of her mind was alit with curses again. She could not ignore it anymore. She sat down on a fallen tree and released the mental hold on her counterpart. A ghostly vision appeared in front of her. "_You fool…_" it hissed."_How dare you try and lock me away_."

The Mabari sniffed the air, trying to discern a physical presence from an illusion. Celia adjusted her eyes to take in this intangible form of her uncompromising companion. The ghostly visage of the female demon was twisted in fury. She stood taller than her host, iridescent with the unearthly glow of the fires of the Fade burning deep within her, pouring from her eyes.

Suddenly feeling the weight of her long life crash onto her shoulders, Celia sighed. "I grow tired of this constant battle, don't you Ivralian?" The oath taken almost a millennium ago tied them together in one body, bound by blood in one purpose. After facing four Blights, Celia grew weary of being the constant harbinger of death. Her demon counterpart still looked agitated.

"_Child_. You think to expose our bond to your companions? That is not our way! You know this quest to gather armies is fruitless, yet you still persist? We stand back and let the people of this world do whatever they feel necessary, then strike at the archdemon from the shadows when it reveals itself. We do not interfere. We do not get involved. That is how it has been for centuries; that is how it should stay. This is the only way we will receive freedom. Do _NOT_ deviate." Finished with her speech, the fire demon drew a shuddering breath, the fire still raging in her expression.

"The guardians are all gone now. Who do you think will be left to give us our freedom when the time comes? I'm beginning to think that this is all for nothing." Celia rubbed her tired eyes.

"We have spoken of this many times before. We awoke too early, and now there is no way but to go along with this hapless Warden on these aimless quests."

Celia shook her head in disagreement but did not argue further.

"I repeat, do not deviate from our original purpose."

A strained pause ensued between the pair. Ivralian's fiery gaze X-rayed Celia knowingly.

"And this 'friend' concept. Getting attached is futile, painful for you from what I can tell. Let us kill this archdemon, and then rest again."

Her whole demeanor was changing. She was now motherly and accommodating, reaching her ghostly ethereal fingers to touch the Warden's cheek. "I know you grow tired, child. We are almost there. Just a bit longer." Her shining fingers made no physical contact and the apparition disappeared, tucked back into a far fold of Celia's mind where she resided since their rebirth. Until Celia was ready to call upon the demonic powers that were not her own, the demon would observe every move from a distance and from inside Celia herself, holding constant counsel with her; that is how they passed their time.

Yet, the demon provided no sense of comfort to the haunted girl. This cursed being that had become a part of her prodded her thoughts, took hold of all of her senses, and would not let her have peace. It had been centuries since her body and senses were her own. She pined for solitude, growing cold from this constant partnership. This notion of a "friend" has been lost to her many centuries ago. Suddenly it all seemed so childish. But here Zevran was, ready to entrust his friendship to her.

But how does one tell such a person – a "friend" – of a united commune of body and mind with a demon for almost 900 years? Celia was the anomaly, the impure being that had been around since the time of Andraste. She mused this to Ed, and his only response was a happy bark and a nudge with his bristled head. "Let's just hope he has the same happy reaction." She said to her dog, turning towards the camp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The Ruined Temple of Andraste was too cold and drafty for Alistair's tastes; but Leliana had fallen completely in awe. She kept belting out passages from the Chant, running up to every statue, inscription and sarcophagus, exclaiming wildly to herself. Alistair took to mimicking her "Oh Maker!" gesticulations every time she would run off to speak to inanimate relics. He had Celia and Zevran in stitches. Even Wynne had begun to smile, though her look was still reproachful. Despite still being deathly cold, the atmosphere within the party finally became light and friendly, after so many days of gloom and brooding. After they discovered the circumstances under which the knights of Arl Eamon had perished, hacking through countless followers of the false Andraste didn't even seem quite so terrible to Alistair anymore.

It seemed his argument with Celia was forgotten, Alistair mused to himself. Everyone was in a better mood after their stay at the tavern in Haven. It's a wonder what a good bout of much needed drinking can do for a group of angry warriors. He took to antagonizing Morrigan again in the breaks between cutting down undead soldiers.

"So Morrigan," he started in the most seductive tone he could muster.

"Yes, Alistair?"

"I was wondering about your _preferences_."

"My what?"

"You know, I heard you talking to the big guy," he indicated Sten who wasn't paying attention. "Is that the kind of a man you like? I mean, how tall does he have to be? Or even better how old?"

"Why do you ask? Are you interested in this sinful apostate? I thought it was against your Chantry's laws." The amber eyes looked on with a twinkle of mild curiosity. Wynne tutted disapprovingly from behind them.

Alistair coughed into the back of his gauntlet to cover up the beginnings of a smile. "Maybe. So how old do they have to be?"

"Well if you really want to know, I look for experience – something you don't possess. Age does not matter to me."

"Ha! I knew it." Zevran hit Alistair square in the ear. Morrigan looked confused.

"Well you see, Zevran and I made a bet," Alistair said, rubbing his ear. "On your age that is." Morrigan's face grew dark with an angry flush. "I was betting somewhere near four decades, but it was he who brought up your _mother_ and went much higher than that." He paused. "I lost." He looked pleased with himself and Zevran chuckled.

Morrigan looked outright scandalized. Celia shook her head and sighed. She wasn't going to pretend that their travels were not enjoyable. She aimed a mental kick at Ivralian, who didn't respond.

* * *

The fight with the false Andraste was grueling and bloody. Had Wynne not been with them, everyone would have perished, their bones left littering the mountaintop as the hundreds of warriors that lay dead there. Leliana was picked up and thrown aside by the dragon – where she landed was anyone's best guess. Bleeding and rasping orders at Sten to find Leliana, Celia felt up Alistair's limp body for puncture wounds and fractures, but thankfully was not successful at finding any. The knight was knocked unconscious but was still breathing; he was the closest to her when the dragon finally fell. The shock of the dragon's massive body hitting the ground sent them all flying off their feet. Sten looked to be the only one left in relatively full health. Barely being able to breathe and stand herself, she shouted "Go, Sten!" before looking to the others. Ivralian was screaming in her head to stop and heal herself, but the one thought Celia clung to was to find all of her companions. Sten rushed off in the direction where he had seen Leliana fall. Frantically looking for the others, she spotted Wynne healing Morrigan a ways off to her left. Morrigan looked murderous from what Celia gathered was a feeling of intense aversion to being healed by Wynne; slumped over a boulder, Morrigan otherwise seemed to be alright. Oghren was alive as well, though he looked unsteady on his feet. Leaning on his axe, trying to get his bearings, he seemed dazed from the shock of the dragon crashing to the ground.

"Zevran! Where is Zevran?" she bellowed at Oghren. The two seemed to fight somewhat close together lately, keeping each other in their respective lines of sight. She thought it was probably because of the age old rivalry between the two races, but none of that mattered now.

"Here," came the familiar voice of her protector. He lifted himself up slowly from behind a wreckage of a fallen column. The chest plate of his armor was hanging off one shoulder that was badly mangled. Pale from having lost a lot of blood himself, he eyed her with concern.

"Wynne. Go. _Now_," she commanded to the elf. As he limped off in the healer's direction, Celia kept her search of the bard going. Cursing herself, she replayed the earlier events over in her mind, thinking of choices she could have made that avoided a fight with the dragon. Had she tread more carefully... Time did not soothe the anguish that came from losing friends and companions; seeing so many people die over the centuries did not make it any easier. For that specific reason Ivralian kept hammering at Celia to stop getting close to people.

"Leliana! Damn it Sten, where is she? Ed? Come here boy!"

Morrigan was now fully healed and joining the search. Celia could hear her cursing low under her breath and stringing together hasty incantations. Then suddenly there appeared a great spider where she had stood only moments ago; it jumped over Celia's head and crawled after Sten. Ivralian's yells kept getting louder, more frenzied. Celia knew if she was to bleed out and die, the demon would cease to exist as well. Her feet began to grow numb and the familiar darkness was slowly overtaking her vision. Grabbing out in front of her before she fell, her fingers closed on the bristled fur of her loyal hound. "Ed," she breathed. "Go get Leliana. Go get her." And everything went black.

* * *

Edward's booming bark was the first thing that she sensed when she regained consciousness. Her eyes snapped open and she wrenched herself up, only to find that she was being held down by a pair of very strong hands.

"Lay back down, Warden," came the unfeeling voice of Sten. "Your friend is being healed by the mage."

Celia let loose a sigh of relief.

"You managed to lose a lot of blood," came the loftily pitched voice of Morrigan. "I stopped the bleeding but you will have to wait for _her_ to do something about the rest."

She looked around. They were in a small niche in the stone wall, still on top of that cursed mountain. She spotted the massive body of the dragon over Sten's shoulder. The rest of the group was situated around her, Wynne, and Leliana – who was conscious, breathing, and _alive_.

"Next time we decide to fight something that can swallow all of us whole, we need to have a better plan. Group cohesiveness, as they call it." Alistair put his hand on her shoulder as soon as she looked like she was about to say something, "And we will," he reassured her.

Looking around the room, she spotted Ivralian's ghostly form leaning against the wall and shaking her head, looking sulky. "Your foolishness will be the death of them, and more importantly - the death of _us_. You just don't know it yet."

Celia chose to ignore her completely.

* * *

Making their slow descent to the heart of the mountain, Morrigan shifted uncomfortably. The harsh terrain and biting frigid wind may not have been appealing to everyone else in their party, but growing up in the Wilds prepared her for the journey. She even enjoyed the time spent in the fresh air regardless of the weather. She preferred to have the sky above her head and a lush green hearth below her feet to the claustrophobic crumbling passageways made by those disgusting ground dwellers. Her amber eyes fell on the dwarf who was clearly enjoying himself, lumbering in front of the group and making wild gesticulations as he spoke to everyone behind him that would listen. The only one who seemed to be paying attention was the dog. The two had a lot in common, she thought. Both smelled like they were birthed the same pile of noxious waste and otherwise were less than useless. She had managed to convert most of the boorish things said to her by the dwarf to a dull bark, so both of them even sounded the same. At least the dog had one redeeming quality about him: he knew how to manipulate Alistair.

Celia's affinity to taking in inadequate warriors annoyed Morrigan. The elf was at least sort of useful at breaking locks and sneaking in stealth, but where he was useful, he was also utterly untrustworthy. She saw Wynne and Leliana as completely useless, the first being a nagging old maid and the second, a hallucinating and mindless Chantry follower. After Sten's attempt on Celia's life, Morrigan had expressed these thoughts to their leader. Celia had waved her off. True, Sten was a fierce warrior whose crushing swings could reave ogres in half, given a proper opening; but if she had to keep looking over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to turn his gargantuan sword on her, this advantage was moot. Celia was too trusting, relying on the rest of her party too much to defend her in case one of them attacked. If the disobedient Qunari was to attempt to attack them again, she would have to step in and put him down for good. She fingered her staff uneasily, eyeing his huge sword.

Sten had stopped moving without warning and Morrigan's face came unceremoniously close to the sword she was eyeing just moments ago. Annoyed, she backpedaled and peered around the giant. The group had come to a complete stop in front of a set of gates inlaid with glowing runes, and Oghren was deciphering them.

"This path was made by the dwarves and only opens to dwarves. Seems my predecessors were hell bent on trying to keep the rest of you dern surface-dwellers out of our attic."

"And yet, here we are, trying to encroach on their property for our own profit and benefit, like us surface-dwellers always do," said an irritated Alistair, getting a reproachful look from Celia in return.

"That means – this dwarven made tunnel leads to the other side of the mountains?" asked Celia.

"More than likely. Though I wouldn't recommend going in this way until we have at least some supplies. There is no knowing how long or what we'll wander into until we find them." Oghren's hand found his flagon and shook it. It was empty.

"Would you be able to open it?"

"Yer darn right I would. With the right stroke here, and a little pinch here," he indicated the places to be molested, "she'd unfasten faster than a drunken harlot on good night. Heh heh." Zevran made a disgusted face.

Celia turned to Alistair. "I think we finally have come to the need to split up."

A look of shock lit up his features. "I fail to see how that could be a good idea. We've only survived thus far because of our numbers. And it is not getting any easier."

Morrigan was tempted to agree. Everyone gathered into a circle. "We need to bring the ashes back to Arl Eamon as soon as possible," she said to everyone, "but since we're already almost at the other side of the mountains, we might as well head over to the Dalish Heartlands. I see no other way."

She received a blank look from most of the group. "There are more elven tribes in the Deauvian Flats, and more of our cities in the Dalish Heartlands, did you all forget? We need to muster all we can."

Sten stepped forward. "May I speak, Warden?"

"Of course."

"A number of my brothers are stationed in Val Firmin, and they would be sympathetic to your cause if I was to persuade them. Val Firmin is about four days' march from here. What say you?"

"I would have to agree. If the Qunari people would be open to lending me some warriors, I see no reason in not at least trying."

Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "I still don't think that splitting up is a good idea, but I see your point."

"Alistair, you will have to bring the ashes to Arl Eamon. He knows you, his people will be more trusting and agreeable to our cause." Her eyes took in all of her companions, as she paused. "I will continue on, westward."

"If this is where we choose our potential death mates, I would like to cast my lot in with Celia," said Zevran.

"Of course yeh would, you lecherous elf. And so would I. Though that is no reflection on yer skills, boy." Oghren thumped Alistair on the back.

Alistair sighed. "Oh boy. Why do I feel like the last kid being chosen for the favorite Warden game."

Celia ignored him. "Sten, you are with me. That goes without saying." He nodded. "Oghren, I need you with me as well in case there are more doors like this one."

"Sorry elf, but its my turn to play hero," said Oghren to Zevran. The beautiful elven face grew dark.

"Wynne, I need you to go with Alistair. Where I am going there will be few darkspawn, and you are needed more in Redcliffe. Leliana, that goes for you as well. Morrigan," she looked at the apostate. "I need your support. Will you come with me?"

Morrigan agreed.

"And what of me?" Zevran didn't like to be left for last.

"I need you to watch Alistair's back. Those nobles are far too treacherous. Please." There was a weighty pause.

"If that is your wish, very well. What of the hound?"

"He comes with me."

It was decided. "I don't like it, but we have no choice," repeated Alistair.

* * *

She had chosen. He wasn't happy about it, but he had sworn his loyalty to her until death would do them part. He saw the inner battle raging within her; recognized her hesitation to the peril that came with splitting up the group. He had taken her aside, but no words came to his smooth tongue. Squeezing her hands in a silent prayer they were to see each other again, she had returned the gesture in reassurance. "We will fight together again, friend."

* * *

_AN - Thank you for reading! _


	3. Chapter 3

_AN – Chapter 3 – Enjoy!_

She had chosen. He wasn't happy about it, but he had sworn his loyalty to her until death would do them part. He saw the inner battle raging within her; recognized her hesitation to the peril that came with splitting up the group. He had taken her aside, meaning to tell her _everything_, but no words came to his smooth tongue. Squeezing her hand in a silent prayer that they were to see each other again, she had returned the gesture in reassurance. "We will fight together other again, friend."

Zevran turned on his heel and followed Alistair on his trek away from the female Warden. Alistair too, walked away with a heavy heart. They were to meet again on the Imperial Highway; Celia would lead her group west into the Deauvian Flats, then head northwest to Val Firmin to meet Sten's people, and then back east through the Imperial Highway. Alistair was to head to Redcliffe and amass Arl Eamon's forces and then head back west and muster soldiers from all villages along the Imperial Highway, until the two groups met up somewhere along the road. That was the best case scenario. Had something happened to either of the groups, they were to leave word with the traders along the Imperial Highway. This was not a fool proof plan, and Zevran's heart ached with discomfort. He knew that at least Oghren and the dog would not cross the Warden, but as for the hateful witch and the tenacious murderous giant – nothing was certain.

Suddenly stoic, Alistair also was uncomfortable in his shoes without the reassuring presence of his female counterpart. Celia's company was familiar and supportive – cutting off ties so quickly threw them all off balance. Zevran wondered if Alistair knew of this new weakness in their battle tactics, but in an effort to not confuse the warrior further, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself. Alistair was not a good leader; true, he was a good natured guy, easy to get along with – but being a leader wasn't his strong suit. Zevran would not choose any of the companions left to lead him into battle. Wynne and Leliana were supporting fighters, as was Zevran – a scout and assassin. Alistair engaged the enemy head-on, drew the most attention to himself from the first attack. Zevran wondered if Celia had thought of this when she decided to split them up. He was to watch Alistair's back to minimize the Warden's risk. So far their adjusted tactics worked on smaller groups of Dark Spawn that attacked them almost as soon as the two groups split from each other.

Leliana took up the entertainer role, hoping to console the party and relieve their worry. She walked and sang a song about the Tevinters and their dystopian ways. It was composed to be comedic, but the way Leliana's voice echoed in the tunnels made the party members feel more dejected.

Hours later, they finally emerged from the dim heart of the mountain. The cold air was refreshing on their faces, replenishing their strength. Alistair seemed to perk up. Clapping Zevran on the back, he asked him to scout a good place to set up the diminished ranks of their camp. Zevran obliged; Redcliffe was a full day's march away, and they all needed rest. The grueling and lengthy walk through the inner sanctums of the Frostback Mountains drained them more than the few scuffles with the Dark Spawn they had encountered along the way. They had talked of making a side trip to Orzammar, but decided against it. Fueled by anxiety and the collective need to quell their loneliness, they had chosen to go by the fastest route which also turned out to be more dangerous.

Zevran left the camp as soon as the others started unpacking. He wanted to run back through the entirety of the mountain with no abandon. Wandering through the woods to clear his head was not working so far. He knew this woman was strong enough to take care of herself, yet something in his chest would not rest.

He had wandered into a clearing without feeling out the vicinity first. This was not the Crow way, he told himself. A sudden disturbance alarmed him and he jumped back, hands on his weapons. A gorgeous Halla strode into his line of sight, legs lithe and toned – its' being perfect and unblemished. The Halla walked up to him and looked him straight in the eyes, unafraid. Zevran breathed a sigh of relief.

"I was not aware that I was being stalked," Zevran said to himself and to the Halla. It blinked and tossed its beautiful head, as though beckoning the elf to come forward. Being of Dalish origin but growing up in Antiva city, Zevran was never exposed to the Halla. Yet this was not a reflection of disinterest on his part. When they travelled with the Dalish Elves in the Brecilian Forest, the Halla took no interest in him. This time, it was different.

Celia and her party plodded through the mountain for what seemed like hours. The leader was lost in her thoughts and did not seem to notice as dwarven passageways turn to the rough mountainside. Possibly being responsible for the death of her companions put a damper on her mood. Ed was running circles around the group, happy to be free and out of the claustrophobic passages of the mountains. Ivralian kept up her steady flow of doomed dialogue, in which she berated the Warden for everything she had done wrong up to this point. This left the Warden with a dull headache. She walked by Sten's side, jaw clenched and gaze unblinking. Morrigan and Oghren followed suit.

The vegetation changed gradually from mountainous terrain to a lush rolling hillside, and then to a wild and overgrown plateau. They hiked until their feet were numb from walking, Celia still lost in her thoughts and memories.

Sten interrupted their slowing progress by throwing his hand out in front of the Warden. "It is time to rest, Warden."

She turned her eyes on him, then looked at the rest of her party members. Oghren looked sulky and exhausted; Morrigan was wearing a usual look of self pity; even her loyal dog now trotted in the rear of the party. "Yes, I think you're right."

A few brief moments later she lay on her bedroll, staring out through the green canopy into the vast starless sky. The view was different on this side of the mountains than what she came to be used to. The stars were alight with a faint otherworldly glow, and the moon seemed to have rolled on its side. In her hometown, Tallo – the moon was also different, she remembered. And in Weisshaupt, the fortress had somehow always blocked out the moon, only letting feeble rays of silver light only occasionally fall into the city.

Sten had volunteered to take up watch for the night, and she only agreed because she knew the rest were drop dead tired. Using the last remnants of her strength, Celia dragged her bedroll next to Sten's chosen post and laid down to rest. Of all the companions she had gathered, Sten still remained a mystery to her.

His emotionless eyes followed her movements. She flashed him a tired smile. "I hope you don't mind company, because at this point I don't think I have the strength to move back there," she pointed to where the rest of the group had settled in. Morrigan disappeared into her tent while Oghren was still struggling with his. Ed had fallen asleep the moment she agreed to set up camp, laying close to the fire to keep warm.

Sten regarded her with silence.

"Sten," she said. "Please tell me of Par Vollen."

"It is a place like any other."

"You mentioned it in passing."

"Yes."

There was a pause. The purple Qunari gaze zeroed in on Celia's face. "Why are you chatting with me while you should be replenishing your strength? As I understand humans need rest more than the Qunari do."

"I am a Grey Warden. I can replenish my strength and chat at the same time."

"Is that what your people call a 'joke'? The elf has told me that your sarcasm is often lost on me."

"No."

A pause. "Why do you do this?" he asked Celia.

"Do what, joke?"

"No, fight the Dark Spawn."

"Why? Because that is what Grey Wardens are meant to do."

"There is no other reason? You humans are tied down by your emotions."

"I fight because I was chosen to, a very long time ago. I was given a purpose and this power to achieve it. And if I don't fight the Dark Spawn, who will?"

He looked at her in silence. She shrugged and turned to her side and away from him, curling up into a ball. They were quiet for a full minute.

"Rainforests." His deep voice yanked her out of her reverie.

"What?"

"Par Vollen. It is full of rain forests."

He ran his hand down the sword she had previously recovered for him, his beloved _Asala_ – the soul of the warrior. It reflected the moon brilliantly and cast flecks of bright silver light on the surrounding grass and armor. It was very beautiful.

"There are many wild beasts and creatures that live in the rainforests. Many inexperienced Qunari die in the forests, unable to find their way to the Qun, while they wander the forests. The creatures that live there are said to be even more ferocious than our women."

"And what of Seheron? What do you miss the most?"

He observed her again, taking in all details of the curiosity playing on her face. "The smell of it. It has yet to be corrupted by the filth of the dark spawn, and it smells pure and fresh, of the sea."

"Must be lovely. I miss the sea."

"Oh? Where do you come from, Warden?"

"I was born in Tallo. A coastal city in the Anderfels." She was suddenly overwhelmed by waves of longing for her home. But the home that she remembered had long crumbled to dust. "It sits on the mouth of a river that pours into the sea. It is very beautiful." She allowed a note of regret fall from her lips. "I imagine the beaches are similar in Seheron. Full of small round stones?"

"Yes," replied Sten, closing his eyes.

"We had these small birds that would fly around and mimic the fishermen's voices."

"Yes – they were small white things, but louder than our _Tamassrans_."

"Really? Ours were black." Celia smiled. This was not surprising. The species could have mutated over a millennium.

"I have not visited your homeland."

"The Anderfels? It was a beautiful place, until the Blights came. But even then, it had a charm all of its own. Tallo in particular. But Weisshaupt also."

"The fortress of the Grey Wardens. I have heard many tales of it."

"I doubt it has changed much since the days of the old." Besides the extinction of the griffon army, the complete destruction of the secret regiment, and the deaths of thousands of Wardens – she thought sardonically. Incomprehensible was the number of Wardens who lost their lives since the founding of their order. Celia shook her head at the thought, wishing for it to go away.

"You speak as if you have been away a long time, Warden."

Celia caught herself. Being swept away with no abandon was not a good idea, Ivralian reminded her. "Sure feels that way."

There was a pause. "What will you do once the archdemon is dead?" she asked a silent Sten, who was lost in his own thoughts as well.

"The _Arishok_ still needs an answer to his question. I will return to Seheron."

"I see."

Another pause.

"Warden, you are a soldier worthy to stand among the _Beresaad_. I did not think so when we first met."

Celia's head popped off her headrest. It was a drastic change. "Thank you Sten." She considered this change in her stoic companion. "I would like to visit Seheron someday. I could think of no better guide to introduce me to the intricacies of the Qun."

He regarded her with his steady gaze. "If that is your wish, _kadan_."

"What does '_kadan'_ mean?"

Sten pointed at his heart. Once again, Celia was touched. Aiming another mental kick at Ivralian, she touched her own heart, eyes bright with feeling. "May I ask a favor of you? I realize that it may not be your way, but I wish you to speak your mind from this point on."

The Qunari eyes seemed to flicker at her request. "Sleep, Warden. That is my wish."

Sleep overtook Celia; for once, Ivralian was dormant as well, wrapped up deep in the Fade. Celia dreamt of her first Grey Warden comrades and days long forgotten even by the pages of Thedan history. The days when the Grey Warden order was numerous and camaraderie between the Wardens was unbreakable. The days when she was young, and the world still seemed so big to her. The days when the city of Weisshaupt was alive with the sheer numbers of Wardens coming and going. They were stationed together across Blighted areas but would come to Weisshaupt every two months to report and recharge. This system worked – the order had enough warriors to keep cycling through the numbers in this manner. Spread evenly throughout the surrounding lands, the Wardens were a closely knit group of warriors – knowing every warrior by name was a big feat for an army such as theirs. The recruitment was successful, as so many had heard of them and wanted to join their ranks. Seen as heroes – ridding Thedas of the corruption the Tevinters had inflicted on the world – it was no wonder they had so many loyal admirers. The army of griffons that served as their steeds made them even more popular among the people everywhere. These were fierce and noble creatures, capable of complex thought and planning.

The Anderfels – as a country – was much different in those days. The Blights had sucked most life out of Celia's homeland, reducing the population to almost nothing. Those who had weathered the constant fighting, migrated to bigger cities such as Hossberg. Living in constant terror of never-ending attacks, the Anders turned to religion to help battle their fears. The Chantry was ever-popular in the Anderfels since that time. Yet the indomitable Weisshaupt was still the home of the Grey Wardens, located on the forefront of the Dark Spawn invasion – though it was much more subdued and prison-like.

Celia's heart pined for her old companions constantly. Her superiors, the people that changed her life forever by invoking the uniting rite with the demon Ivralian, were her not her friends – after all, they had infected her with this demon, doomed her to wander all of Thedas until the last of the heathen gods had been returned to the Fade. But her companions – her real _friends_ – the people who fought and died one by one by her side with unfailing consistency had inflicted more heartache and pain on her than anyone could fathom. Over the centuries, the unfailing repetition of losing the ones she called 'friends' had driven her to become distant and cold, like the demon within her. Being her only weakness, this word _friend_ had manifested as a horrible twisted pain in her. Ivralian's solution was to lock her away from the world and make her heart cold to all living creatures. But this was not Celia's way. She was much more careful now, recognizing the fleeting moments for what they were – seconds of happiness within the endlessly flowing sands of time. They were sweet and distracting seconds, instantly taken away from her, lost within the infinite desert that had become her past. Celia armed herself against this; she was stronger now, less likely to be hurt again.

Ivralian had become her only constant. The elemental demon had tortured and manipulated thousands of people before being tied down this unlucky vessel; Ivralian was the only potential consolation to Celia. But she knew that it was foolish to expect anything from the fire demon. So they had to learn to coexist effectively in one body. For awhile, Celia would let the demon take control of her body while she would be dormant. But this had proved problematic for the both of them. So Ivralian had to find other ways to get her kicks.

There were others like her. Created by the mages of old, this idea of binding a demon to a live human Warden-host came at a great price. Many recruits to the Wardens barely survived the initial joining – the drinking of Dark Spawn blood. The binding of a demon to a human had decimated their ranks even further. A more reliable way was created to guarantee the Wardens' survival, but it came with a heavy price, cursing the subjects in the process. The souls were ripped before they were given the tainted blood. This ensured the dominancy of the human soul over the demon and overall survival of the Warden hybrid. The tainted blood, taken after the ripping process put a time limit on their collective lifespan, ensuring against the possibility of the Warden going rogue. After this regimen was perfected, the mages and superiors kept a wary eye on their ripped Wardens. To make it easier and to avoid discrimination, an oath was taken from every hybrid Warden to keep the source of their powers quiet. The stigma of becoming an abomination was spread over the rest of the order to keep the warriors in line and quiet about their function. Thus, the secret regiment remained hidden from the rest of the Wardens.

But Celia herself was an anomaly. Her commander and friend – Rukshan of the Spark – had failed to pass the taint on to her. This was done out of love and foolishness of youth; it had cost her everything. She was cursed with life until the end of the age. And even then, it was not certain that she would gain the eternal sleep she so desperately desired. The guardians of her secret had all but died out; she knew this for certain. There was no one left to dispatch her and to grant her peace. But she was not immortal; her spark could be extinguished any second. The problem lay in the immortal bond between her human soul and the demon. They would be forever tied – even in death, they would not be able to achieve peace – until a guardian could dispel this bond. So she fought for the both of them; for freedom.

She cursed Rukshan. Her memory had not dimmed; he appeared in her dreams as handsome as he was the day they first met. The sight of the man who had loved her many centuries ago was forever unchanging.

It was the same now – he stood in front of her as he always did, not saying a word. She would ask him questions, try to touch him – but nothing ever moved this vision. His eyes held a magnetic force stronger than a black hole; it was his eyes that drew her to him in the beginning. They pierced her to the bone and her breath caught in her throat, the same way it did the first time they met.

He wanted them to live forever. It was a shame he died.

The blade he was holding had suddenly disappeared from sight. Looking around for it, the breath caught in her chest alerted her of the foreign object planted deep within. Time was lost for the both of them, as the blue of his eyes consumed her whole. The pain in her chest overtook all of her senses. To prevent herself from suffocating, she was forced to rip herself from the dream, as she had done so many times before. Gasping for breath, she wrenched up from her bedroll. The sun was still low on the horizon and Sten was keeping watch a few steps away from her. He did not react to Celia's sudden awakening, so she turned away from him and pretended to be asleep.

_AN - Well? I hope this explains things a bit better for you guys. Don't forget to let me know what you think – I aim to please =]_


	4. Chapter 4

AN – Thank you guys for your wonderful reviews, please remember to keep them coming, or I won't know whether I should continue or not. Hope you enjoy ^^

* * *

It was light out when Zevran walked back into camp with a spring in his step. Finding his companions still asleep, he began to pack up his unused gear. The previous night held many revelations for the assassin. He felt such a strong connection with the Halla which he had encountered in the forest, even though his inner Crow had told him that he had been hallucinating. But Zevran was sure that these visions didn't come from the lack of sleep or stress that he had endured over the last couple of months. Perhaps it was just a feeling, but he felt more in tune with himself, more refreshed.

When he reached out to touch the willing Halla, something spoke to him. He quieted his heart, opened it up to the forest consciousness and welcomed in the knowledge that came with the sweet sense of belonging. Growing up in Antiva City, he was never exposed to his Dalish roots or any element of the Dalish culture. The spirit of the Halla awakened something deep within the elf and suddenly, just walking within the forest revealed much to him. The forest around him was responsive to his every request – every blade of grass and flying bird told him a story, and the Halla felt like an extension of his self. He was allowed to see into the animal mind, to take part in the collective consciousness of the forest. He saw what she had seen – he now knew everything she knew: the shortest and safest paths were all revealed to him. Every breath he took in the forest felt replenishing. His senses more acute to every presence in the forest around him, Zevran felt as if his inner being was expanded past the boundaries of his physical body.

Now, back at camp, his thoughts were centered around getting back on the road, though his Dalish side complained. The forest was familiar and fragrant, not easy to leave. But Zevran stayed focused on his promise to Celia.

His belongings packed and ready to hit the road while his companions still slept, Zevran fidgeted, anxious to get going. Alistair was snoring happily in his tent. Losing patience with his sleeping friend, he picked up a rock and threw it at Alistair's tent. The cleverly pitched stone hit its mark perfectly, and a grumpy and abashed Alistair emerged from his tent, trying to identify the source of his rude awakening. Zevran barked into his sleeve and greeted his leader.

* * *

Within two days' march, Celia and her companions reached the Deauvian Flats. Finding the elven tribes had not been difficult. The Dalish plateau was empty and barren, making it easy for the group to track the nomadic tribes.

They were not warmly received by the elves. Surrounded by their fighters and blindfolded, they were taken to a Dalish camp reminiscent of the one they visited in the Brecilian forest. This time however, the elves were bigger in number, but even harder to convert to their cause. Celia had invoked the treaties at their initial response – which was a complete refusal. She grew very angry very quickly. Standing in front of The Council of nine clan elders, her hands now balled up in fists, she had used up every ounce of silver-tongued persuasion she possessed. Her companions were surrounded at knifepoint behind her.

"We will not bend to your human will as our brethren have. That is our final word."

"The Blight threatens not only the humans, lest you forgotten?"

Oghren growled in agreement. "My people already sent reinforcements. Will the elves not match the dwarven efforts?"

The elders looked at each other, but said nothing. Morrigan scoffed from somewhere behind Celia.

"So you will stay and fester in your flat lands, too afraid to do anything? You cannot deceive me. I smell the Dark Spawn taint in your lands. What will you do if the humans are unsuccessful? There are not enough elven forces for you to keep your isolationist outlook during a Blight. You know better from experience." She could have pitched her voice to match her appearance – a young human woman, hardly in the second half of her twenties. But she allowed the echo of her endless experience to enter her voice. And it did her justice – the elders were startled, but not yet convinced. Ivralian laughed. _"It would be in your right to hold the council hostage until they agree to send you warriors…"_ Celia waved the thought out of her head.

One of the elders shook his head. "Human. See it from our point of view. You barge into our lands. You threaten our people and coerce us to accommodate your wishes. This has been done before, many times. We will not comply." The sound of his voice was aggravating. "_He should be the one to die first,_" Ivralian mused.

"For the sake of this conversation, I am not human. I am a Grey Warden." Celia's voice hardened, her eyes boring into chief elder. "My people have protected yours for centuries. Don't make the mistake of denying me while I hold in my hand the very treaty that your people agreed to and signed many centuries ago." Her voice changed – deepened, resonating with the power of her past. The full power of her gaze didn't let him look away. "Your brother Zathrian from the East believed in my cause."

The chief elder shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A female elder sitting beside him spoke next. "You made your case Warden. We understand your plight. You will wait until we come to our decision."

Celia walked away fuming. Pacing in the clearing which the Dalish so graciously ushered them into, her mind's eye was turned to Zevran. She couldn't help but think that he would have been useful in persuading the elves to honor the treaties. But she had no choice. He was the best at protection, and Alistair needed him. She wondered how they were faring. "Hopefully they have more luck than we do," she mused out loud. Oghren lumbered into the clearing from the bushes, cursing up a blue streak and pulling up his pants. It seemed that the elves were still monitoring the group's movements.

Morrigan watched her companion pace. "This is most troubling for you," she said loftily. Celia turned her attention on the mage. "If the council decides to decline, what will you do? Go to war with the Dalish? Beat them into compliance?"

Celia resumed her pacing. "We can hold them hostage, kill their leaders, create a blood bath – but no result will come from this. They must decide for themselves that our cause is worthy enough for them to fight under our flag."

"I disagree," offered Sten. "My people have dominated clans such as these into doing our bidding. There are ways to make them comply."

"I know." Celia stopped her pacing, her face darkening at the thought. "I just don't want to have to employ those methods."

"If I may, Warden, but couldn't we just invoke the right of conscription and take their best warriors?" asked Oghren.

"If they are not willing to give me warriors, do you think the warriors themselves would go against their council's wishes?"

"We could create a threat," mused Morrigan. "People are more likely to comply under a ruse of an indomitable enemy."

Celia made a face. "As if the threat of the Blight is not enough. This is unnecessary. We have the treaties. Why will they not honor the agreement?"

"You are confusing elves for dwarves, Warden. It is my people that care about honor and loyalty. Its their dern elvish pride, I think. And I wouldn't blame them – the humans have not been docile with them, historically speaking." Oghren took a swig from his flagon. "Submitting to a human's will is damn near nauseating for them." He eyed the Warden. "You fit the profile of all they hate."

Celia shook her head. "I don't need them to submit. I want them to honor their agreement. There is virtue in that." She sat down and ran through possible scenarios of resolutions of her problem. The prospects weren't looking good. Ed came and nuzzled into her thigh.

"This is the end of the line. I will not be denied." She looked up at Sten. "How sure are you that your people in Val Firmin will heed my call?"

"They will not reject me. My rank is high."

Celia still looked troubled. "This is most unsettling."

* * *

Meanwhile, the other group had reached Redcliffe. Arl Eamon was awakened and brought up to speed. While the Arl rested and regained his strength, Alistair and his companions stayed at the castle. Within the day, Alistair was called to the Arl's bedchamber to discuss the situation. With Arl Eamon in an improved condition, their plan was going off without a hitch – so far.

Alistair wandered the dark Redcliffe castle, unable to clear his head of thoughts that kept running into one another. Everything was just too jumbled, coming in too much at once. The situation was becoming more dire by the day. They were needed across the mountains with Celia, however the political threat of Loghain still hung unresolved in the air. Eamon had spoken of putting him on the throne, but Alistair was wary of this idea. He sought counsel with someone, anyone. But his companions offered no comfort for him. Wynne had patted him on the back and told him to "follow his heart." _Great_. _All sorts of unhelpful_.

He sighed. Duncan would know what to do in this situation. Having a royal bastard on the throne did not seem to be something that the Warden Commander would have approved of. But who was Alistair to say what Duncan was to think? He only knew him for a short time.

Celia. There was no way Celia would go for it. Or would she? Running his fingers through his hair, he thought of the other Warden. She would know what to do. Steady in her decisions as always, she was his superior in everything they attempted. An awkward and bumbling idiot that he was, he couldn't picture himself on the throne. No. It was impossible.

They desperately needed to get back on the road. Zevran voiced this to Alistair as soon as they handed the Sacred Ashes to the mage in charge of the Arl's healing. But Alistair was forced to wait until Eamon was conscious enough to discuss the current state of affairs. Zevran had come to him after their meeting and compelled him to leave again. But the Arl had asked him to stay. But for how long? And to what end? This bothered Alistair – the vagueness of it all.

Having reached the tallest tower in the castle, Alistair stood at the window trying to gather his thoughts. The castle was familiar to him, but uncomfortable today.

Zevran entered the room, interrupting Alistair's thoughts. "Are you following me?" asked a slightly disgruntled Alistair.

"Yes. I was given the task of watching your back – as your Highness may remember."

"So you have been listening?"

"A part of being your bodyguard, most brilliant leader, is being within an earshot of you at all times. I would not be doing my duty if I was to leave you while you wandered this cold labyrinth of a castle by yourself. Even a most dubious assassin wouldn't pass up an opportunity such as this to plunge his daggers deep into the soft flesh of your back."

Alistair laughed uneasily; silently hoping deep inside that Zevran was not feeling this way himself. He had disagreed with Celia in her choice of bringing Zevran along at first. There was something wholly unsettling about the elf. The way he sometimes joked with the female Warden about his intent to kill anything that stood in his way made Alistair feel insecure about having his back exposed to the elf.

The elven face changed expressions rather abruptly. "Alistair. Let me be frank with you. We need to leave. Now."

Alistair shook his head. "We cannot leave yet. Arl Eamon…"

"What are you, his chambermaid? Stand up for yourself. Our companions are facing danger on the open road while we sit pretty in this cage."

"Its complicated, Zevran. I pine to leave as much as you do, but Eamon has his reasons in wanting me to stay."

_SLAP_.

It took Alistair a few seconds to realize that Zevran had back handed him across the face. His elven face was flushed and his eyes wild. "Enough! Grow a sack and stand up for yourself for once! I have stood by for too long to watching you waver in your decisions and let others decide for you. You are still a child, not a man. You are a Grey Warden, are you not?" Alistair suppressed an urge to cut the elf down where he stood. "This Arl of yours cannot rightfully keep you. Or is he not the one keeping you here? Do you grow comfortable in this castle while our companions face mortal peril out in the wilds?"

Alistair slumped over on the window. "No cage is ever comfortable," he said under his breath. There was an awkward pause between the two men, while Alistair couldn't bear to look into his companion's eyes.

"You're right, of course," he said finally. "We must leave."

Zevran nodded, the flame in him extinguished by Alistair's compliance. "I will go make sure the ladies are ready to get going. I must say, I am more than anxious to go. The sooner the better."

"Arl Eamon will provide us horses so we may reach the mountains quicker."

"Very good." Zevran clapped Alistair on the back, all insults forgotten. "Now let us not linger here." The two men left to go in the direction of Arl Eamon's quarters.

* * *

"You will have your fighters."

The decision was made. Albeit a close call, the council couldn't come to a full consensus on their own. The judgment rested on the clan's oracle, who was in tree form. Celia and her companions ogled at the tree while the elders encircled it, listening to and interpreting the rustling of its leaves. The tree was planted over some important something-or-other and had certain healing qualities; thus the elves recognized it as an oracle. Celia resigned to the fact that she wasn't getting any warriors as soon as she was lead to this tree and was told that _it_ was going to decide her fate. Ivralian was shaking from laughter inside her head, her voice resonating in Celia's ears. "Preposterous," she heard Sten say. Morrigan was lost for words. Oghren remained at their clearing in camp with Ed, and for this she was thankful. The dwarf's input in this situation would have started a bloodbath.

But the decision was made. And she was more than satisfied with the judgment. She tried to mask her genuine surprise, but was short of successful.

"You will take some of our finest archers and mages. However – we reserve the right to keep enough to protect our people here." The second elder delivered the news, as the chief elder could not hide his disdain.

"I am more than happy with that. Thank you." Celia was ready to kiss the oracle tree at this point. Her mood was instantly rejuvenated. "I will need to speak to the commanders to direct them to the location of our armies before we leave."

"Yes. You will need to speak with Velanna, she is in charge of our mages. And Kelryn; he will be heading the archers."

Celia held out her hand. The elder eyed her, but didn't return the gesture. "Heed our warning, Grey Warden. If our people come to harm from your humans – there will be war." He had walked away, but Celia was not upset even with this impoliteness. Turning excitedly to her two equally surprised companions, she put her arms around both warriors and steered them to their clearing, where her loyal dog and Oghren were waiting to hear the news.

* * *

Being on the open road once again pacified Zevran's anxiety. Perhaps it was leaving the constricted castle walls that made him feel better, or the lessening of the distance between himself and Celia that quelled his discomfort. He did not want to think about it. Riding beside a more focused Alistair, Zevran recalled his last meeting with Arl Eamon. Alistair had proven himself this time, making Zevran feel some sort of respect that he had never yet felt for the man. He pulled himself together in the brief moments after Zevran's intervention, briefly before their audience with the Arl. Alistair chose his words diplomatically and effectively – and the Arl had no choice but to agree. Yes, he was not such a useless lump anymore.

* * *

AN – Well? What did you guys think? Drop a comment if you liked it. Thanks for reading =]


	5. Chapter 5

AN – Forgive the brevity of this chapter. But this is how it is meant it to be.

* * *

Back on the road, Celia was trekking with more gusto. Her spirits were lifted by the thought of support promised to them by the elves. She saw this as a sign that finally things were moving in the right direction. Ivralian scoffed at the positive thought that entered her companion's mind. Celia paid no attention and kept up her elated lead north. Val Firmin was only within a day's march, and she was eager to meet with Sten's soldiers stationed there. She had a couple of dealings with the Qunari over the long duration of her life, but overall they still remained a mystery to her.

She looked back at Sten, considering his size and abilities. Man, if all of the Qunari warriors at Val Firmin were all like Sten, they would be a powerful force to be reckoned with and a great asset in the fight against the vast approaching Dark Spawn hordes. He caught her looking at him and regarded her with an intense purple stare. She giggled and turned away, keeping up the steady melodic pace her feet beat into the ground.

The sky opened up out of nowhere and a raincloud of epic proportions unloaded on their heads. Morrigan and Oghren cursed the heavens at the same time. Even Sten looked a bit put off. Celia started laughing. "We might as well wait it out."

Setting up the full camp seemed like a waste of time, so Sten hung a long piece of tarp between the trees so the soaking warriors could have at least some sort of a haven from the storm. Morrigan and Oghren appeared immediately under this safely fashioned fortress. But Ed could not be coaxed inside from the rain. He ran around barking and splashing in the puddles, attempting to call his companions out to play. Celia was in too good a mood to refuse her dog. Stripping off her armor and ignoring judging looks from Morrigan, she ran into the rain after Ed and was instantly knocked off her feet by the excited hound. Wrestling him to the ground, the Warden and her happy dog rolled around grappling. She didn't remember the last time she could say she was truly as happy as she felt at this moment, in the warm droplets of the rain in the Dalish Heartlands.

Somehow the master and the dog managed to break away from their companions. Both exhausted from their wrestling match, the two found a tree to sit under and relaxed. Ed fell asleep instantly, as he always did – with his head in Celia's lap. Smiling down at her tired hound, Celia considered the situation. They were in the Dalish Heartlands – lush, beautiful, and unconquered territory. Now, after the rain had cleared the air of all dirty smells and left only the sweet remnant of earthy renewed scent of the mountains.

_A pleasant diversion_, said the loftily pitched voice of Ivralian in her head. _Remember, these moments are fleeting._ She appeared in her ghostly form leaning on a tree in front of the Warden.

Celia inhaled the fresh air full of sweet rain and sighed happily. "You really are a hateful being," she told the demon.

"Perhaps. Though I am just surprised at you. Wrestling with that creature while you should be on the road, battling the Dark Spawn threat and bringing us closer to our freedom." She shook her head in an almost disapproving motherly way.

"I am not like you. I need to get away from this stifling darkness and taint every once in awhile." She considered her companion. "If I gave in to your negativity, we would have died from depression a long time ago, unable to finish our purpose."

Ivralian was not insulted, but regarded her human counterpart with a feigned look of understanding. Celia chuckled. "You are getting better at human expressions. But please, don't insult me and put it away." The demon grinned and gestured apologetically.

"It's a shame you don't believe my genuine efforts."

Celia shook her head and smiled sadly. "You and I have a different understanding of the concept of 'genuine.'" Her black locks sent a shower of water over the sleeping dog. Ed lifted a giant muddy paw in his sleep and attempted to scratch his ear, but the tiredness took over and he fell deeper into sleep.

"You have been thinking unorthodox thoughts lately, Celia." The rain was slowly dying down and the sky was glowing brighter by the minute.

"Yes, and I reserve the right not to discuss my private thoughts with you."

"Very well. We will speak on a different subject. I think this Qunari idea is foolish. To think that you can compel those people to act in accordance with your wishes is not smart." She paused, waiting for her words to sink in. "They are an obtuse people whose minds were fashioned to grasp only one concept at a time – and that is the slow and steady takeover of your lands to the Qun. They will not see the bigger picture."

Celia considered the demon's words. Over the centuries, Ivralian had proven herself to be manipulative, evil, coercive and hurtful – however she was always loyal and very intelligent. Having an older, more experienced being in her head was an asset; as long as Celia figured out what ends the demon was using her guiles to achieve. In this case, she didn't see the demon profiting from leading her astray of the Sten's Qunari brethren.

"There will come no harm from trying."

"Perhaps they decide to kill you and your companions. What then?"

"Well in that case I guess we just will have to defend ourselves. We are not helpless."

"Foolishness," she uttered finally – seeing that the Warden would not be persuaded against her earlier decision.

Closing her mind to the demon, Celia woke up Ed and started to walk back to her companions. A gentle breeze aired out her wet clothes. She was told by her superiors that closing her mind to the constant prodding of Ivralian put a strange straining look on her face that came from the amount of raw effort it took to conceal things from the demon. The demon didn't understand her one bit. These happy moments she shared with her dog she would treasure more dearly than anything else in this world. The fleeting moments brought her comfort. As for Sten and his companions, there would be no harm from at least meeting with them.

* * *

Choking on her life's blood, Celia struggles to keep a firm grasp on her consciousness. Her blood sears as it pours from her chest. With the familiar screaming in her head she can barely distinguish between reality and images of Ivralian's overwhelming fear. Her eyes find Sten standing a few feet away from her, the look on his face forever unreadable. The phantoms have disappeared, but left her a gift: the great Qunari sword impales her cleanly through the chest. The pain hits her in waves, but for her pain was always bearable. Her mind wanders, unwilling to grasp the gravity of the situation. She spots contrasting forms of Morrigan and Oghren running towards them in the distance. Somehow still standing, she notices her knees begin to fail. Her breath flutters in her chest, barely able to escape, as it becomes harder and harder for her to breathe. A few agonizing seconds later, they appear through the dense fog. Oghren lets loose a cry of fury and Morrigan uses her staff to steady herself, not ready for the gory scene that greets her eyes. Everything slows, and their cries become undistinguishable to Celia, who is spiraling backwards into darkness. She falls deeper and deeper into comfortable nothingness; Ivralian falling along with her, clutching her in her arms, frantically trying to pull her out of the great black hole swelling up to engulf them both. But the pair is falling far too fast.

Celia feels her body crash to the ground. Half-conscious, she is able to see shadows of her companions take a hold of her; hears a thunderous voice that reverberates in the ground around her. It is only now she realizes that she might die. The light in her eyes becomes brighter and limits her vision. She struggles to tell them many things but her breath is becoming harder to thread through her bleeding lungs. Her strength draining away with her blood, she feels around for her dog – but Ed is missing. She manages to choke out "_Nego arch corpus_" and all fight in her dies out.

* * *

"Heal her!" roared Oghren. "Why do you just stand there – HEAL HER!!!" He grabbed Morrigan's staff and thrust it farther into her grip.

Morrigan's hands shook with weakness and the color that once grazed her cheeks was nowhere to be seen. White as the dense fog that hung thickly around the clearing, Morrigan stammered inaudible bits of phrases that could have been incantations but no magic came when summoned.

Oghren rushed at Sten, who stood unmoving, his expressionless eyes focused on the bleeding Warden. "YOU! YOU KILLED HER!!!" He swung his axe wildly at the giant. Effortlessly, the giant blocked his swing with his beloved Asala. The sight of the Asala sobered him out of his blind rage. He whipped his head around to spot the sword that was still impaling Celia – it was similar, but he recognized it as another greatsword.

At the same time, Morrigan had finally collected herself and managed to summon some healing magic that was now stemming the bleeding from the Warden's open chest cavity. Incantations spilled from her lips in a concentrated stream. She laid down a glowing liquid substance that poured from the tip of her staff into the wound and massaged it deeper into the hemorrhaging tissue with cold fingertips. _Blood_ _magic_. Without saying a word, the dwarf lumbered over and took hold of the sword that was still impaling his leader. Morrigan held up her bloody shaking digits, counting down until she was ready for him to pull.

* * *

Somewhere deep within the folds of Celia's mind, Ivralian paces frantically. The weak spirit form of her companion lies powerless on the ground, the spark in her struggling to stay lit. Ivralian feels Morrigan trying to heal their physical body. But she knows it is useless. The wound is too deep, and the apostate doesn't have the power or the knowledge to regrow and piece together flesh and bone. She thinks hard and weighs her options. Time passes slowly, painstakingly – but in here, the concept of time has no relevance.

The despair she feels at this moment crushes all other possibilities laid out before her.

"This is going to cost you. A lot," she says finally to the limp form of her companion, having made up her mind.

* * *

Morrigan fell back, all mana drained from the massive amount of healing magic she had just poured into Celia. Even so, she recognized that her effort was not enough to save the Warden.

Silence swirled around them like the thick fog blanketing the forest at the moment.

Sten spoke first.

"She has been deceiving you. She is not what she appears to be."

Morrigan was lost for words.

The next four words have the effect of an earthquake. "She is a demon."

"What?" Oghren's eyes sized up the limp form on the ground.

"Apostate. Tell him," Sten commanded to Morrigan. She shook her head. "You felt it. _Tell him_."

Morrigan shook visibly. "I… I felt something. But to call it a demonic presence…"

They all jerked in unison as Celia's body burst into flames. The flames blanketed her in a thick cloud of smoke, and their view of her now completely obstructed.

"What further proof do you need?" Sten asked the others.

"I don't understand… how did this happen?" the situation was sobering, and yet the dwarf felt waves of yearning for alcohol crash over him. The need to calm the nerves won over reason and he took a swig from his flagon.

* * *

AN – Drop me a comment and let me know what you think


	6. Chapter 6

AN - Here is the 6th installment of my story. Enjoy =]

Having arrived in Val Firmin the day before, the group began actively searching for Sten's Qunari brothers. The city stood in ruins – the white marble used in building the city's fortifications was laying crumbled all around them. A forlorn feeling hung around the ruins in a thick white foreboding fog. Sten lead the group now, his eyes darting on the ground in front of them, seeking any sign of his brethren. The Dark Spawn stench wafted in and out of their nostrils as they walked on, clinging to some particular ruins more than others. Overall, it seemed that even the Dark Spawn had abandoned these ruins, leaving behind twisted altars as mementoes of their filth.

After a full day of searching through the creepy ruins with no avail, the warriors decided to rest. The stench of the Dark Spawn that hung thickly around the ruined city accosted their nostrils, so they retreated into the forest for the time being to set up camp. Sten was not able to relax – the thought of his brethren kept him searching for them, even as the rest of the group was forced to rest. Ed insisted on following the Qunari on his search – and for this Sten was grateful. At the same time, Celia had a very strange nagging feeling in the back of her mind that was intensified by Ivralian. Celia's actions bothered the demon lately – she completely disregarded every counsel Ivralian had offered – which was unusual. Ivralian attributed this change in the Warden's attitude to the unfailing preferential treatment of her companions to the demon herself. She was wary of it, but nothing could be done for now. It seemed that Zevran was on Celia's mind quite a lot lately. Ivralian wondered if Celia was beginning to grow attached to the assassin and the other companions as was unadvisable in her time– life was brutish, short and full of death. As usual, when she voiced this concern, she was waved off. So Ivralian pouted and schemed, tucked back into a far fold of Celia's mind.

Morrigan and Celia sat by the fire, discussing apostate rights, though the conversation was mostly one-sided. Celia had an innate prejudice against mages, even though she was a magic user herself. After all, who could blame her? Agelessness was a glorified curse they had to bear, nothing like Rukshan ever envisioned when he held back on passing her the taint. She did not share this thought with Morrigan, who was on a roll about the Chantry. Having lived in the shadow of the iron grip of the militant organized religion all of her life, Morrigan had plenty to share. Colorful as the conversation was, Celia was only half-paying attention. She was concerned with the slight irksome feeling that was prodding at her heart. She couldn't put her finger on the source of her worries, as there was a lot – Sten and Ed out in the Wilds, Zevran and the other party arriving safely at Redcliffe and making their way back, Arl Eamon and his condition, the political situation in Ferelden, the treachery of Loghain, Alistair's safety in the midst of double-crossing nobles, the elves' safe passage to Redcliffe. After all – they still didn't know if the others were even alive. Having so many mounting concerns on her mind didn't ease the Warrior's burden; in fact these issues were out of her control for the moment and that fact in itself really bothered her. Maybe she worried about all the wrong things – the death of the archdemon _was_ her objective. She started at the thought. This was something Ivralian planted deep in her psyche.

"… demons." The last word that Morrigan uttered yanked Celia out of her contemplative state. She jerked awake while Morrigan took note. The amber eyes scanned the attentive face of her companion.

"Demons?" Celia repeated, frowning slightly.

"Yes, they are my specialty." Ivralian settled down to listen, this time turning her full attention on the apostate. "My mother… she had this obsession. She thought the powers of demons could be harnessed."

_Fancy that_. "Well? Can they?" asked Celia.

Morrigan made a disgusted face. "She experimented on many. But I was always forbidden to be present at these ceremonies which she used to extract their powers. They were… grotesque."

Celia sized her up with an all-knowing smile. "I doubt that ever stopped you."

"Yes," Morrigan grinned mysteriously. "But I shan't divulge too many of my own trade secrets." Her eyes rested shrewdly on Celia's. "And what of you? When I mentioned demons you sprung to full attention."

_Oh crap_. Lying to Morrigan, who was intelligent and quick to read people – was not advisable, as Ivralian promptly reminded Celia. To minimize the risk of Morrigan red flagging her attempt at a lie, Celia answered with a half-truth instead. "Demonic powers are infinite. Those who can harness them to full potential are the unbeatable warriors."_ In my experience_. "If it is at all possible, of course." _And_ _of course it is possible_.

Morrigan's gaze was all-encompassing_. She knows_. Ivralian prodded Celia's thoughts. _She knows_.

"_Don't be so paranoid_." Celia directed her thoughts at Ivralian. About to make a joke out of the strange predicament, a strange feeling of déjà vu swept over the Warden. Looking into Morrigan's amber eyes – she felt as if she had done this before. Sitting in this exact position, discussing demonic powers with the apostate. The feeling startled Ivralian as well. _No_. This sensation was intense. Searching for the source of this awareness, Ivralian delved deep into their collective memories.

"_I don't like it_," Celia told Ivralian. "_Something is very strange here._"

Morrigan still examined her. Something strange had come over the Warden. The dismayed look in Celia's eyes made Morrigan think that the Warden knew something that Morrigan did not. She wondered if the déjà vu she was feeling was mutual. Celia twitched. It was getting too quiet, even with Oghren's thunderous snoring in the background.

She threw her arms around Morrigan's neck suddenly and pulled her into a crushing embrace. "Thank you," she said. Morrigan tried to shy away. "For everything." This sudden shift in Celia's actions seemed unusual to Morrigan. After a few awkward seconds, Morrigan excused herself and left the Warden's presence.

_Nice diversion_.

"Shut up."

Sten had finally found what he was looking for. Three Qunari warriors remained at Val Firmin. They had driven out the Dark Spawn forces a month earlier – just as he thought – at the cost of the rest of their comrades. Being of low rank and possessing no leader, they stayed at Val Firmin indefinitely. But something else was strange. The dog did not react to the three as if they were not present. He kept sniffing around the trails for a scent of the Qunari until he disappeared in the distance. Sten let him go. He had other pressing issues to attend to. Surprisingly, persuading the three to join them was easier than expected. The sun was already well up on the horizon when the four warriors got up from their discussion. Rational as always, the Sten invited the lower-ranked Qunari to meet the Warden. They agreed.

Celia listened to their story with a slightly furrowed brow. Many things did not add up. She stared at Sten while the three explained what had perspired, trying to spot the similarities between the Qunari. The nagging feeling was growing proportionately to Ivralian's prodding. The demon sensed something didn't fit. The three moved in a very strange manner, as if their joints were not fully functional. Celia wondered if this was a Qunari way, yet it reminded her of something ominous. They stood upwind from her – and when it finally blew, it brought with it smells of waste and decay. Celia still looked to Sten to take notice. But he didn't seem to be aware of these revelations. He was engaged in a full-on conversation with his brothers in their singsong language. Even his voice was different from theirs. Grating, as if bone was vibrating against bone – when they spoke, it came out harsh and raspy, unlike Sten's low and reassuring pitch. Ivralian grew more wary by the minute. _Something is wrong._

The three were built similarly to the Sten: tall and muscular, with emotionless faces and unfeeling eyes, the color of their skin having the appearance of decay. Looking at Sten, she couldn't help but notice that he was the most pleasant-looking out of all of them. One carried what looked like a reinforced staff – she guessed he was an equivalent of a Qunari magic user. He seemed most unfriendly to her; he kept pointing at her with his staff and making grating accusations in their language. The other two carried their swords in their hands, unsheathed and dragging on the ground. They showed no signs of the frequent devoted care that Sten gave his sword after every battle. This was strange – Sten had told her that all Qunari soldiers cared deeply for their weapons.

And then out of nowhere it hit them both. There were no Qunari left alive here. What stood in front of them were empty shells, animated by primitive magic, if any magic at all. The smell of decay worsened with the thought. _Phantoms_. Celia blinked and finally saw them for what they were – rotten skeletons that were animated by the vicious twisted desire for death in all living things. She felt bad for them. After all, she shared that with them.

At the same time, Ivralian panicked. _Kill them. Do it quickly_.

"_No. Sten doesn't see it yet."_

The sunken skeletal faces suddenly turned to look at Celia. The voices were grating and harsh, as if their throats were bare bone. Pointing a bony finger in her direction, the closest corpse uttered the one word that chilled her to the bone. "_Demon_."

She froze. The iron grip of fear twisted her stomach into a knot. Sten looked accusing and angry. Blood slowly draining out of her face, she reached slowly for her weapons. Taking out the Asala from its sheath he faced her, standing behind the skeletal remains of his brethren, who were also pointing their swords at her.

"Wait… They aren't what they seem to be, Sten."

"Strange, that is what they said about you. They have no reason to lie." The back of her neck prickled unpleasantly, as her hair stood up on end.

"No…"

Ivralian screamed. One by one, the phantoms attacked her. She knocked them them aside and destroyed them with swift movements, their screams piercing the foggy forest air. But one sword found its mark before Celia could react. As swiftly as they attacked, they were suddenly all gone, crumbled into dust. Sten's eyes widened at their swift disappearance. The wind brought a hissing Qunari phrase to Celia's ears with a delay. "_Katara bas_…"

Sten shook his head as if to release a strange thought from his mind. He didn't understand what had happened. The Qunari had revealed to him that they were attacked and slaughtered by a large number of demons. They told him that his leader – his _kadan_ – was also a demon. He had looked to her, trying to disprove their theory – but she looked more than guilty. When she reached for her weapons, he knew it was over for her.

She stood still now, her eyes still fixed on him. Blood was beginning to pool and drip from her chest that was run cleanly through with a Qunari sword. Her hands reached out to him, eyes wide. She called his name. He looked at her with hatred. This lying wretched creature had taken advantage of his trust. He shifted the _Asala_ in his crushing grip, ready to take off her goddamned head.

But Morrigan and Oghren had come. The dwarf attacked him, while the witch tried to heal her. They had to know of her treachery.

"No. I refuse to believe it." Oghren propped himself up on his axe. Taking covert glances in the direction of Celia's burning body, he kept shaking his head. Demon? She couldn't be. She found his Branka. Gave her back to his ancestors. Fought by his side. Seemed so human. No, it was impossible. The Qunari was lying. And now their leader lay dead. "Alistair will kill you."

Morrigan laughed derisively, giving into panic. "Alistair? Its over. Don't you see? There is no more reason for us to stay here. Everyone can go back to their lives!" Morrigan's chest was heaving as she began to lose control. "A demon! This is just too good. Even Mother could not have foreseen this better!"

Sten's eyes were fixed on the burning body. Anger and aversion gripped every inch of his being. "Abomination." He couldn't believe he honored this repugnant creature the most sacred respect in the Qunari tradition. He took a step in her direction.

The fire had vanished as quickly as it appeared. _Something_ had come.

The recumbent form opened its eyes and stood up slowly. Looking around and bending its limbs, the demon marveled at Celia's body. Ivralian didn't remember the last time she took possession of this body. The wound in her chest was healed by the demonic fire. She looked at her companions. When she spoke, they shifted uncomfortably – reflecting on the change of the familiar voice that they were accustomed to hearing. She had a thick coastal accent that Celia didn't possess and was pitched lower, more experienced.

"I am Ivralian of the Fire." She regarded them all with a sweeping look. "Celia is resting for awhile, as I used almost all of her life force to heal that giant hole in her chest." She paused. Her inhuman eyes landed on Sten, who was boiling over with hatred. "And that was your fault. If you had been more vigilant, you wouldn't have fallen for that primitive trick of the eyes."

"Creature. Death will come as swift retribution." He lunged and missed. She took his back and held a blade to his throat while she spoke.

"I am not here to play around with you like Celia did. I want to slay the archdemon so my Celia and I can go back to sleep. Understood?"

A low growl came from Sten's throat. "Kill me, demon. Do not toy with me." Ivralian tickled her blade against the softer skin of the Qunari's throat.

"No. We are wasting time."

Oghren and Morrigan woke up from the spell Ivralian's melodic voice put them under. "Wait, you want to keep going?"

Ivralian rolled her eyes. "Explanations are in order, I think." She rubbed the flat side of the dagger against Sten's neck. "If I release you, will you listen to what I have to say?"

"No. Kill me now. I tire of your lies."

"Too bad, you will listen, for Celia's sake." She shoved him away from her but held her blade at an arm's length, still pointed at his throat. "Celia and I are one. Our tale goes back almost a millennium. We were cursed by the Grey Wardens and their mages. Chosen to walk this age to the end, ripped from our bodies into one. Forever together, until all of the Heathen gods are send back to the Fade and the age ends."

She regarded them with another sweeping look.

"The Grey Wardens are a different order than what they were in their heyday. Their dirty secrets will be the death of them yet." She chuckled sardonically. "Celia and I were a part of an experiment that went wrong. We were supposed to have a time limit on our wretched life. But because of a weakness of a human 'friend', we were cursed with agelessness. We now walk this earth until the end of all Blights gives us swift dispatch." _Hopefully_, she didn't add. She allowed a note of tiredness enter her voice.

"Now for the last four Blights, Celia and I have established a system. We struck at the archdemon from the shadows. But lately she has been… misbehaving. Deviating from the plan. I attribute this to you." She pointed an accusing dagger in the group's direction. They all stared back in disbelief. The silence was deafening.

It was the dwarf that broke the silence. "Wait. So you're telling me that they let a sodding demon join the Grey Wardens?"

"This tired being in front of you is a prisoner. Both of us are trapped in this body, unable to escape the Grey Warden purpose."

This time it was Morrigan that spoke. "You're immortal?"

Celia – or Ivralian, rather – shook her head. "Agelessness and immortality are two different concepts. We can cease to exist in the physical sense, but until we fulfill our purpose we will be forever remain together, unable to find peace."

More silence ensued. She lowered the dagger that she kept pointed at Sten. "I advised her against taking anyone along on this journey. She disobeyed. I guess it is human nature to grow attached to company. I will never understand it." The sun had peeked from behind the clouds above them for the first time they reached Val Firmin. The fog that stood in the clearing began to dissipate. Ivralian shielded her eyes, as the rays of the sun grew brighter around her. She breathed in deeply. "You never miss it until it is gone," she said to herself. Being in a corporeal body in the physical world was a rush. _Feeling_ was a trip all in itself. It was a wonderful experience. Excitement coursed through her body.

Celia stirred weakly, somewhere deep in the folds of her consciousness. Ivralian made her comfortable before taking control of her body. "_Nego arch corpus_" was the incantation for the release of one's soul that Celia swore never to say again, almost a millennium before. But she had no choice this time. Feeling powerless and drained of all energy, Celia lay useless in her spirit form, unable to move or speak – but feeling and seeing all that Ivralian saw, unable to do anything about it until the demon saw fit to release the incantation. This was her torture to bear, her prison.

"I tire of this conversation. We must get back on the road and complete the task we set out to do." She looked to Sten for an answer.

"I will not follow a demon, whatever way it may be dressed."

She sighed impatiently. "Celia was your _kadan_, yes?" The Qunari twitched involuntarily at the word he used prematurely, cursing himself silently for having used it in such a foolish way. "You will follow me until she can regain her strength and complete her purpose. _All_ of you. It is not a choice."

Morrigan and Oghren exchanged looks. It didn't change their purpose to follow the demon.

Morrigan stepped forward. "I will follow you, if only out of interest."

Oghren nodded. "Eh, hell. Might as well."

Ivralian looked to the Sten. "And what of you?"

Sten sheathed his sword and looked at the ground. "I want to ask Celia a question."

"Until she is conscious enough to answer it, you will have to follow me." The Qunari had no choice in the matter. Ivralian smiled subtly. _I win, _she directed at an unmoving Celia.

"I get to play now."

_AN - Please drop a comment and let me know what you think so i can learn and improve ^^_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN – I need to apologize for the previous quality of this chapter. I was too eager to post and it showed the inferiority of my style. It is all fixed now, I apologize once again. =]_

_

* * *

_

By the time Celia and her companions arrived in Val Firmin, Alistair and company had already crossed the mountains. Back in the open air once more, they headed for the cities that were located just off of the Imperial Highway. But as usual, they had come to encounter many obstacles in their journey. The cities on the other side of the Frostback Mountains were the territories of dispute between Orlais and Ferelden, and this proved to be a tricky situation for the group. When asked to help fight for Ferelden, these people would say that they were the citizens of Orlais, thus escaping their responsibility.

Alistair ground his teeth in silent anger every time he came to encounter yet another member of the nobility that spoke with an over-exaggerated Orlesian accent. He realized that these people found a great excuse not to fight – in fact he was sure if it was Orlais that was under the immediate threat of the Blight, these cowards would declare to be Ferelden citizens and wouldn't take up arms in either case. Celia would know what to do here better than he did – he thought of using coercive tactics… But he failed to see a positive outcome from violence. Here he was, doubting his actions once again. Admitting their defeat after being refused aid at every city they visited so far, Alistair looked to Zevran for reassurance that he was taking the right course of action by not using violence to convey his message. Walking away from the possibility of a fight seemed cowardly to Alistair, but beating the aristocracy into submission could have turned ugly for the group, the ranks of which had been depleted by Celia's command. The assassin had shaken his head and ushered him out of yet another drafty castle that smelled of stagnation and rot.

Lately, Zevran had come to be his closest advisor in their travels. Alistair felt at ease when speaking his mind to the assassin – after all, he was Alistair's constant bodyguard, and could read the Warden's own thoughts effortlessly on his own. They grew closer especially after their fight in the Redcliffe Tower; now, Zevran was more approving and supportive of Alistair's decisions as his leader. And if Alistair looked to Zevran's advice on a situation, the elf never held back his counsel and proved to be loyal and agreeable. Leliana was also useful in these coastal Orlesian cities – she was knowledgeable of her homeland and persuasive when needed, though so far they had still no luck in winning the aristocracy over to their cause.

Having been turned down in all three cities along the Imperial Highway that they came to so far – Halamshiral, Lydes, and Verchiel – looked to be a continuing trend for the group. Now back on the road, the four trotted beside their worn-out horses, preoccupied with the last city on their plan to rejoin Celia and the rest of their companions; Montsimmard stood in between them and Val Firmin, where Celia was supposed to have met Sten's Qunari reinforcements. They were crossing the Heartlands. The weather was light and the breeze warm. With every step they took, they were getting further away from the sea, though the zephyrs still brought the saccharine smell of salt and freshness to their nostrils. Their journey was easy and full of uncorrupted green lushness of nature, but the one thought uniting everyone's mind was their approaching meeting with their companions.

Zevran's eyes roamed all over the road in front of him, seeking out any and all footprints and clues, his brain busy interpreting all he saw. His heightened Dalish senses told him that his companions had not ventured this way yet – his heart jumped at the thought of encountering them soon. In his mind's eye he could see his most desired image – Celia walking up to embrace him, smiling openly, sweetly, as she very rarely did – though covered in dust and dried blood, as per usual. Enemy blood would somehow always find its way onto her face and clash against her olive skin, standing out and drawing closer attention to her subtle features. No trace of insecurity was ever spied in her appearance. Always preoccupied, always thinking, his leader was resolute in her movements, whether she was at rest or fighting. Even with her face relaxed, she somehow always managed to look intense, until a smile swept her features into an expression that could light up a room without exerting much effort. He yearned to keep that elusive smile lingering on her lips – yet it was incredibly hard to come by.

And then there were her weapons… _Ahhh yes_, those daggers he coveted since their smooth appearance at his throat many moons ago; the lithe twin knives forged of some cold unearthly metal, glowing even before it was infused with lyrium and fire. He had yet to extract from her exactly where in her travels she had come to acquire these weapons. During a fight, these weapons would be almost undetectable, only able to be located by the most trained of eyes that could follow the faint glow each dagger left in the wake of Celia's lightning movements. In fact, he thought to himself, seeing Celia without these daggers in her hands was strange and alien. Her dark hair laid on her shoulders in a bit messy way – but this didn't take away from her beauty, rather punctuated it. Short of stature for a human female, she was the perfect height for someone his size, he observed to himself with glee.

She was rarely seen without armor, weapons, and random blood spatters lining her body. Suddenly turning mischievous at the thought of one of these rare occasions, he hid a smile from a nearing Alistair – though his efforts went unnoticed by the other man, since the male Warden was lost within the folds of his own mind as well.

Alistair was in fact thinking about Celia also. Trying his hardest to shift his feelings for the other Warden into ones of platonic friendship, he found the easiest way to think of Celia was as his elder, more experienced sister – that was most efficient. He could follow her lead and truly believe that whatever course of action she decided to take was best for them all. Yet he could never get all of these straying thoughts out of his head.

She was rational as always when she told them she had no time for _feelings_. She was right; they raced against time to rouse an army to defeat an unyielding evil that stood ready to attack before them. He had experienced the same nightmares as frequently as she had; deviating from their purpose was ludicrous, so what in Maker's name was he thinking? Yet these illicit thoughts kept coming… Even if he somehow managed to change her mind about recognizing love – why would she pick him? Though Wynne had encouraged Alistair to keep proving himself to her, he did not think that it was getting him anywhere. Celia had turned him down, and twice; yet accepted his rose after a particularly bloody battle – even if only as a token that would bring her luck. She saw him merely as her brother – of that he was sure. His heart aching for acceptance from her on any level she would allow, he brushed these straying thoughts out of the forefront of his mind with an effort. _First priority – to amass this army at any cost__. Everything else is to come second._

_Yes_, this was rational: this _was _something that Celia would agree to.

All the while Leliana hummed a very pretty melody to herself as she walked, whistling some key notes for variation. This melody drew her in and made her think of the vast night sky, full of dazzling constellations of the old – she wondered why this melody stirred this emotion in her. Perhaps because it had a minor sad overtone to it, and made the melody sound forlorn yet infinite like the ungraspable vastness of the heavens. Various sounds always seemed to have different personalities to the contemplating bard. This was an innate ability in all good musicians, she thought. Being able to reinforce her stories with a melody that brought with it a feeling or a characteristic that the audience could recognize was a sign of a true great bard. The Maker granted her this gift – and she would be sure to use this melody someday, she thought, tucking it deep into the reservoirs of her memory. Zevran and Alistair walked ahead, both preoccupied and lost in their own thoughts. She knew what was on their minds because it was clearly laid out in hers – the fact that they had yet to collect an army of suitable size was a bothersome thought they all shared – but she had faith that the Maker would take care of it. _If it was meant to be._

"My dear girl," Wynne's steady voice broke her focus. "That melody you have been developing is far too sad for this occasion. The music that spills from your lips always has such an effect on our male companions, look there." She pointed at Zevran and Alistair's bowed heads. She was right, they were both looking peaky. "Don't you think it would be more sensible to sing something more cheerful?" The elder mage showed benevolence and good will towards all of her companions, with no discrimination. Well, at least until they were travelling with Morrigan again...

Leliana agreed. With her thoughts still centered on Celia, she tried to convert the energy she felt from the Warden to one of the melodies she knew. Within their brief time of acquaintance, Leliana managed put together a mental image of the Warden, as mysterious as Celia still seemed to her. She felt that Celia was protective of every one of her companions, even though she didn't know Leliana personally. The Grey Warden seemed like an old soul to her – stable and experienced, reassuring and invulnerable; her essence fed them all – whether it was during combat or in camp. But the source of it, she couldn't quite grasp. The fight with the false Andraste was still fresh in the young woman's mind. After all, Leliana had almost died from the force of her body impacting the solid rock wall, when she was thrown aside by the dragon. But it was Celia's incredible energy that fueled them all, pushed them to find Leliana, to heal her; it was Celia that dragged her back out of the giant proverbial hole that welled up to swallow her spiritual essence. It was that same unyielding energy that bit at their ankles now, urgently pushing them forward to find her.

But Alistair also possessed this enduring energy. She wondered if this was the mark of a Grey Warden. He was still a child, yet after their short stay in the Redcliffe Castle, she noticed a great change come over him. He was tougher than before, she thought, less yielding to what others wanted of him. She sized up his backside – he was still too cute in a goofy, sweet sort of way. There was a certain kindness to him, some deep seeded notion of chivalry towards all women he came across – and that she very much enjoyed.

Her wandering mind finally landed on a proper ballad; she chose to sing a tale of the chivalrous warriors of Ciraine. The numerous tribes of Ciraine came to this land before Orlais was plotted deep on the map of Thedas. These warriors were the pioneers of her own Orlesian culture – they lay down the foundation of Orlais in their legendary battle against Dumat, the first archdemon. Fighting alongside the first Grey Wardens they had spilled their heroic blood to give a chance to the future generations to flourish on this land. The ground they walked on was inundated in their blood, and in her individual way Leliana felt a deep connection to her valiant predecessors, as she was also fighting alongside her own Grey Warden companions, shedding her own blood so that others may live to tell her tale someday. _Yes_, it was the Maker's own hand that put her on this path, she had no doubts about it. She sang an audacious tale that was far from a happy account of the Ciraine warriors and their epic battle, but the effect of her ballad on the two men was immediate; emboldened, they grinned back at her, gathered their composure, and had found more confidence in their steps. In the distance, rising out of the dust and bustle of the unknown horizon, the spires of a castle were beginning to appear.

* * *

"Enchanted," she says, smiling a slow, open-for-business smile that she knows can light up a room and at the same time send a chill down the nerves of his all-too-human spine. And enchanted he is with this Grey Warden, and even though his noble wife is sitting a few paces away, he is thinking of nothing else but this young thing and himself, somewhere alone together – their clothes suddenly nonexistent. Her touch is velvety smooth, as is her voice that caresses and strokes his already inflated ego in all the right places. His heart pounds in his ears and he is tempted to hold on to her hand even though she is intent on pulling back her pursuit. He will continue to play this cleverly arranged game. He continues to watch her as she retreats back to her place beside her very diverse companions; but they are not important right now. She bows low, and this break in their eye contact lets him somehow find his voice.

"So what brings the Grey Wardens to my humble city? I daresay a trip to Montsimmard is a bit out of the way for a social visit, as much as I would like to believe so," and he has said too much he thinks. Her eyes do not leave his, and he becomes increasingly excited. His wife clears her throat and he silently curses his advisors for their unfortunate choice of a spouse for himself. Compared to the delightful creature standing in front of him, his wife is a hobgoblin. It is impossible to stay faithful in an arranged political marriage, he thinks; and he is glad to see that the Warden is not taken aback by the resentment his wife fails to hide.

A flush fills her angelic cheeks and a mournful expression sweeps her features; he does all in his power to stop himself from dashing to her side and consoling this extraordinary woman that has arisen such cravings in him, in both purest and dirtiest ways his limited imagination allows.

"I am afraid that the Grey Wardens are not as… ah, _potent_ as they used to be." Her eyes slide from his face down the entire length of him, lingering on his midsection. And now the chair he sits in is too constricting; he believes with all his might that she is also longing for him. She plays the enchantress – and he cannot resist her calling. The smooth rolling of her R's assures him – the possibility of her experienced tongue is most certain. He tries to decipher the origins of her accent, but once again – it is least important right now.

She bows her head sadly. "The Blight rages on across the mountains in _our_ country to the east." She places a great importance on uniting them – and just the two of them – under one flag. Unbeknown to him, she has already placed a suggestion into his pliable mind. The Lord aches to feel connected to her in any way that is possible, and she hears the echo of her suggestion, planted deep in his psyche as he speaks next.

"Ferelden will not fall. _Our_ country is great."

She graces him with a heartbreaking smile. "The defeat of our army at Ostagar has set us back. We need _your_ help, specifically, Lord Aurelien."

He considers this. Yes, she may have him under her spell from the way she says his name ever so gently, but... _No_. He still has control of his reasoning. Under the gravity of this situation, the Dark Spawn threat may completely decimate his forces. His knights are of his own blood, and he will not give them up easily, even to _her_.

She licks her lips, seeing him attempt to gather the last of his failing psychological fortifications. "I will consider this a favor of great _personal_ exclusivity." The accentuated word is all he needed. He breaks: he is rational no more. Beside himself with passion for her and her cause, he is on his feet in a flash, clutching her hands in his own and uttering promises of salvation. Intoxicated by her eyes, the fluidity of her movements, he notices nothing else present. For Aurelien, it is just him and the Warden – and he is her dutiful servant. _Yes_ _of course;_ she will have her soldiers – she can have anything she wants, just as she will have him groveling by her feet and pawing at her door every night.

She smiles knowingly, deliberately, casting a sidelong look at the defeated Lady of the House. _These humans are too easy to break. _Recognizing their desires, flaunting them, and then taking them away – throws them off balance and out of their comfort zone. It is then she shapes them in her own way, and they cannot refuse her. She is the enchantress, the snake charmer: she plays the notes and they dance to her will.

* * *

"That was a sickening display, demon," Sten scowled at the Warden when they returned to the atrium, finally away from the sons of Monstimmard. They had just finished surveying Lord Aurelien's forces at the bequest of the groveling lord himself. He proudly ushered them into the barracks, demonstrating his dutiful willingness to help with the war effort.

She considered him with a knowing smile. "Ivralian. And I will not ask you again, Sten. _Do _call me by my proper name." She paused for dramatic effect. "And my 'sickening display' worked in our favor. We now have soldiers from a city that for the most part considers itself to be Orlesian."

Morrigan commended the process and result of the demon's handiwork immediately, even as Sten scorned it. This manipulative side of the demon-Warden sat well with the scheming apostate. Ivralian was well-learned in the ways of silver-tongued manipulation – and Morrigan enjoyed seeing the demon craft this finely woven web of promises; ones of desires and the fulfillment of those desires. Ivralian granted her a genuine smile of recognition; though human, Morrigan seemed to be more intelligent and devious than the rest. The fire demon was intrigued in seeing her skills in the future, even if just to amuse herself.

The Mabari hound cowered nervously by Sten's side, as he had been doing since Ivralian's voluntary switch with Celia. Ed recognized that his mistress was somehow not the same, but didn't comprehend how this was possible. Everything in his canine brain told him that nothing was wrong – the smell of his master had not changed – yet he knew this being was not his master. Whining, he shrank away from the path of Ivralian's gaze every time it came his way. The only comfort Ed found was in Sten, as Oghren was unnecessarily drunk and indifferent to everyone since the switch took place. Regardless, whether this was his way of coping with following a demon indefinitely and to unknown ends, or just the result of the sudden increase in his supply of liquor, the dwarf was borderline comatose from his gluttonous drinking habits. Sten looked after Celia's loyal dog, preferring the company of the hound to the much less wanted company of the other party members. And Ivralian had yet to find a use for the hound, so she was content with Ed staying out of her way.

"Come, we are staying at their tavern for the night. Anywhere far away from that drooling fool is good for me," the Warden motioned to her companions. Oghren burped in approval and pushed open the front doors of the hall, leading the rest of the party to the Montsimmard Marketplace. The problem facing his wholly inebriated mind was the delay brought on by his overindulgence in alcohol. It was moments later that he finally recognized the source of astonishment and dismay that was holding back the rest of his companions. It took him even longer to identify the eager forms of Alistair, Zevran, Leliana and Wynne, making their way through the marketplace and up to the front doors of the Montsimmard Castle, on their way to greet them.

_"Oh, Maker." _Celia's first words since her awakening only a few moments before echoed in the demon's head. Having finally awoken from her lengthy coma, yet still feeling weaker than ever, the sight of her four absentee companions – alive and well – gripped all of her senses with trepidation. "_What now???"_

_

* * *

_

_AN – Thank you guys so much for reading and putting up with my silly erratic language when I first posted this chapter._

_Don't forget to drop a line and tell me what you think =]_


End file.
